Arcadia Duo - Before the Storm
by BrxkenArrow
Summary: Damon Azrail has had a rough few years. He lost his only father figure, his best and oldest friend, and now he sometimes feels like he's losing his own family. Drugs, alcohol, and an over-bearing would-be Stepmother were only his biggest problems. Now he has to deal with a strange Asian woman who thinks she knows him. OC. Rated T for violence. REVIEW.
1. Chapter 1

The year was 2010, early November, and it was already showing hints of winter in the city of London. It was after dark, and a gentle snow fell down on the streets of Whitechapel as the people went about their business. The lights were on, cars drove, and people spoke. The typical sounds of a busy city. One individual walked alone, a large black hoodie obscuring his face. One could see a cigarette in his mouth as he walked.

A loud caw drew his attention.

His silver eyes were visible as he lifted his head to turn his gaze to the source of the caw; a pitch-black raven, common in London, standing atop a street lamp. He chalked it up to his imagination, but it looked like the raven was actually staring at him. Birds did that to people sometimes, but something about this particular instance was… unnerving. It was almost as if the raven _knew _him. Shaking his head, he sighed and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, blowing out a big puff of smoke.

"Find anything interesting, fella?" 16-year-old Damon Azrail asked the small blackbird. He had to give a small smile as the bird tilted its head as if acknowledging him. He'd always been fond of ravens. With another caw, the bird flew off, making the teen shake his head in amusement. "Thought not." He said, putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

He carried on with his walk, not entirely sure where he's headed. He was in one of his moods, just roaming about, not intent on going anywhere. He'd just wanted to get out of the house. That bitch who thinks she can boss him around was spending the night again, and he didn't want to think about what she was doing to his mother. He liked the girl-on-girl thing as much as the next guy, but when it involves his mother, it loses its magic.

Life had been a downward spiral for him over the past two years. First, someone he cared about greatly and looked up to as father died, then his mother dragged him and his sister to London a few days later, away from his best friend, she enrolls him a Catholic School, and now she's snogging with a lawyer with delusions of authority over him. He'd have run off by now if it wasn't for his little sister.

Shaking his head, banishing those thoughts. They only proved upset him more. With another depressed sigh, he took a deep drag of his cigarette and tossed it in a nearby bin. Even the cigarettes weren't making him better.

"Someone, help!" He heard a cry from his right. The scream was almost completely drowned out by the cars, so he wasn't surprised when he saw no one reacting. In an alleyway, he saw two shapes, one significantly larger than the other, pressing the smaller one into a wall. He could hear some muffled screaming as he strolled in.

"Don't be like that lassie…" He heard the man's sleazy voice. "I just want to have fun… You want that too, eh?" He chuckled. Damon rolled his eyes with a scowl. One thing he hated beyond all else was a rapist. With a shake of his head, he picked up a loose brick and tossed it. With precision, the brick hit that man on the head, and he fell to the ground, unconscious. The girl stood there, frozen in fear at what was happening. Or rather, what had almost happened.

Damon strolled over to the unconscious form and knelt, pulling the contents of the man's pockets out. Score. A small bag of weed, a pretty necklace that he was probably going to pawn, and 300 pounds. Nice. As he gathered all the stuff, he looked at the girl. She was still standing up against the wall, panting heavily in fear. Her skimpy dress had been pulled down, exposing her chest. Clearly, she'd been looking for a lay, and got more than she'd asked for. Damon enjoyed the sight for a few seconds before speaking.

"Look, I'm not saying you were asking for it…" He said, getting the girl's attention. "But next time you want to get laid, try a gay club. Douchebags don't go there, and there's usually a straight guy or two looking to get lucky." He told her, walking off. The girl watched him go, quickly covering herself up when she realized how exposed she was. She frantically looked around, hoping no one was nearby. As soon as she saw there was none, she broke down, sliding down against the wall to the ground, sobbing under her breath, the full impact of what had almost happened hitting her like a train.

* * *

It baffled him sometimes how bouncers were so easily fooled by appearance. All he had to do was let his facial hair grow out a bit, and he could easily pass for a young man in his twenties. It got him into clubs, bars, and all manner of places. He even got a lap dance from a stripper once when he managed to get into a gentleman's club. His mother was not happy with him when he came home covered in glitter. And a big fat kiss mark from a stripper on his cheek.

"White Russian," he said to the barkeep, an attractive young blond. 21 or so, he gathered.

"Nine quid." She said simply. He pulled out a ten from the money he took from the would-be rapist. The bartender nodded and got to work mixing the boy's favorite cocktail. As his eyes wandered over the menu he couldn't help chuckling. "I can't help but wonder who took the piss with these cocktails." He said, shaking his head. "How awkward must it have been when they first came along and people were saying to the barkeep that they wanted a Blowjob or a Slippery Nipple?" The bartender's lip twitched up at the boy's humor.

"My personal favorites are the Cock-sucking Cowboy and the Creamy Pussy." She responded, shaking the mixture in the shaker and pouring it into the glass, which she'd already filled with ice. "One White Russian." She slid the drink towards him.

"To inappropriately named cocktails." He said, raising the glass. The young woman rolled her eyes in amusement the boy sipped his drink. With a sigh, the boy put the drink down and pulled his hood back, showing his long golden blonde hair. "It's Friday night, that's open mic night, right?" He asked.

"A poet and you didn't even know it." The girl responded coyly, wiping the counter. "But yes, the stage is open in half an hour. Why? Planning on playing?" She inquired, rinsing the shaker she'd used.

"Maybe. If I get enough of a buzz going." He said as another customer on the other side of the bar ordered, funnily enough, a Blowjob. "Subtle." He whispered to the bartender, referring to the customer's ridiculous attempt at flirting. The bartender snickered at his remark as she prepped the drink.

* * *

"_And the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls, and tenement halls…" _Damon sang serenely as he played the keyboard softly, all eyes in the bar on him. _"And whispered in the Sounds of silence…" _He ended the song, taking a deep breath. He was greeted to the sound of applause, rather than silence, as he opened his eyes. He got up with a smile and gave a bow. Some people could see his face was slightly tinted red, from embarrassment or alcohol, they couldn't tell.

"Whew…" he said as he slumped down on his seat at the bar.

"Got a pair of lungs there." The pretty bartender said as she approached. Per the cliche, she was wiping down a wet glass she'd just cleaned.

"Thanks." He said, massaging his temples. "Is a glass of ice water out of the question?" He asked.

"Coming right up." She said, amused. She scooped up some ice from the ice tub on the counter and even used a tap to pour the water. "One ice water. On the house." She smiled jokingly.

"Don't let me have too many of these," Damon said with a faux-serious tone, making the bartender laugh as he downed the water.

"So tell me..." She said, she said as she prepped a round of shots for one of the tables. "Where are you from?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. "You have a mostly English accent, but I hear a hint of the states in there somewhere, maybe Canada." She told me, passing the tray of shots to a waiter.

"Perceptive," Damon noted, setting the empty water glass aside. "I was born in Oregon, but my mother was born here in London. Grew up with a wonky mix of Brit and American in my accent."

"And being around your own people is fixing it?" The bartender finished, refilling the glass with water.

"Almost three years in London and people still notice." He chuckled. "Have to work on that." He said. He and the bartender shared a chuckle. Their eyes met for a moment, and they shared a small smile.

* * *

The door to the apartment was kicked open. Damon walked in, his arms currently occupied holding up the bartender, who had her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist. His hands were planted firmly on her bountiful rear. With the door behind him, he kicked it closed and pressed her against a wall, nuzzling her neck, eliciting a pleasured sigh escaping her. She pulled his jacket down off of him and threw it aside, sliding her hands up the boy's muscular arms. He had some natural muscle, but he was rather thin for the most part.

"Second room on the right." She whispered in his ear, nibbling in the lobe. Getting the message, he pulled back and carried her to the corridor, opening the second door on the right side of the wall. He walked through and pushed her down onto the bed.

It was going to be a long night for the two of them.

* * *

"_Insomnia, thou art a heartless bitch." _Damon thought to himself with a scowl as the naked woman cuddled up to him in her sleep.

It'd been a great night, for him at least. He hadn't heard any complaints from the girl, but she might have just been being nice. Damon was still new to sex, having only had one previous partner; a girl from his school who dumped him when he didn't want to meet her parents. They'd only slept together a handful of times. He was sure he at least gave his current bed partner an orgasm, but he doubted she would remember it as the best night of her life.

He checked his watch. 5 am. He should probably leave soon. He really didn't need another fight with his mother or the bitch for being out too late. Maybe if he got to his room without anybody seeing him, he could convince them they'd just missed him arriving. Fat chance, but it was worth a shot. That in mind, he squeezed out of the girl's grip and got dressed, making sure he had all of his stuff. He'd feel bad about just leaving her there alone, so he used her kitchen to make her some breakfast, a simple cheese omelet with some spring onions and bacon. After washing the dishes, he left the food in the microwave, leaving her a note in her bedroom. It just gave a simple thank you for a great night and an apology for leaving abruptly. He also left behind his number, in case she was interested. He doubted she would be, but it couldn't hurt.

He was surprised that he'd managed to do all that without waking her or her roommate up. Maybe he should have taken his chances with a shower too. He smelled like alcohol and sex. Leaving the apartment, he stretched. Even if he was insomniac at the moment, he'd had a good night, and was well-rested enough. The wonders of the female form.

Now to get home without being noticed.

* * *

"_Too much to hope for." _Damon scowled to himself as the living room light was turned on by a glaring woman. A tall, lithe individual, wearing a typical black lawyer's dress, a pair of ovular glasses, and a blanket of long bushy ginger hair on her head, extending down her back.

"Damon." The woman greeted with a glare.

"Yes, Satan?" He asked, turning his eyes to the woman. "Oh! I'm sorry Genevieve, you sounded like someone else." He said with the fakest smile he could manage.

"Put a lid on the smartassery, Damon." She said with a Welsh accent. "Where have you been?" her tone was just a step shy of demanding.

"Around." He answered with a shrug.

"Your mother was worried sick about you." She snapped at him. "She spent half the night calling and messaging you."

"Then I guess I had a better night than you did," Damon smirked darkly, making the woman scowl as he walked off. He heard her mutter under breath what a disrespectful brat he was, and couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Shower time." He sighed to himself, entering the bathroom. If there was one good thing about Genevieve, it was her lukewarm showers. She never took too much hot water.

* * *

Damon lay on his bed, a towel around his waist, and a cigarette in between his fingers. His hair was wet, and his skin was moist. He'd just finished his shower and wanted to unwind for a moment. His mind drifted to the previous night. He'd actually gone to a bar and picked up a woman. He even went home with her. It was a first for him. He never figured he'd be that kind of guy. Well, maybe he's not. He did leave her a note with his number after all, and he'd return her calls. If she called that is. It was up to her.

"Dami, are you there?" A small, female voice asked, knocking on his door.

"Don't come in, Jenny. I'm naked." He told her quickly.

"Oh, alright." Damon's little sister, Jenny, said. "Genevieve is working on her make-up and Mum's about to shower. Can you make breakfast?" She asked. "I'm really hungry." She added.

"Sure, sure." Damon allowed a small smile. If there was one soft spot he had in his life, it was his sister. Jenny was always cuddling up to him, praising whatever tiny thing he'd accomplished, smiling brightly whenever he entered the room, and always wanting to spend time with him. She even snuck into his bed whenever she had a nightmare.

Jennifer Azrail pretty much hero-worshipped her big brother. She thought the world of him and adored him. Usually, having a sister like that is a pain in the ass to a person, but Damon found it… Refreshing. Between Genevieve, his Mum losing faith in him, his teachers being religious nuts, and his peers being assholes, it was great having someone in his life who never saw any bad in him.

* * *

"Yummy!" Jenny chirped happily as Damon laid one of his perfect hashbrowns with an egg and some bacon. It was Jenny's favorite breakfast. She was a short girl, even for her age. She had the same golden blonde hair and silver eyes as her brother, but her face was more angular than his. She also had the classic innocence of a ten-year-old that Damon adored in her.

"Damon." Klare Azrail, renowned psychologist, mother of two, and open pansexual, walked into the room, wearing her work attire; simple black jeans and a white T-shirt with a peace sign on it. She also wore her favorite pair of Doc Martens. Purple ones, that Genevieve bought for her. She felt it important to have a calm environment when helping clients, rather than a business or formal feel. "Jenny, Mummy needs to speak with Damon." She told her daughter, who looked between them.

"Is Dami in trouble?" She asked innocently.

"That depends on him," Klare responded, her arms crossed. Looking at her brother worriedly, Jenny took her food to the lounge, where she sat on the couch and ate. When she was sure Jenny wasn't eavesdropping, Kalre glared at her son. "I called and texted you several times last night." She said with narrow eyes.

"Did you?" He asked, raising his eyebrows. He pulled out his phone and opened his texts.

**Mum: Damon, where are you?  
Mum: Your late-night walks are getting later and later.  
Mum: Damon, answer me.  
Mum: For fuck's sake, reply.  
Mum: DAMON**

"Hm, so you did…" He shrugged, putting the phone down. There were a number of missed calls from her as well. "Must have turned it off."

"Genevieve tells me you only came home at around 6 am. Care to explain?" Dr Azrail asked, her eyes narrow and her arms crossed.

"Take a wild guess." Damon snarked.

"Watch the attitude young man," Klare warned. "She mentioned you making a comment about having a better night than her." She went on. Damon sighed.

"Alright, I went home with someone," he said bluntly. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Is she really that upset that you spent the night worrying about me instead of with your head between her-"

"Hey!" Klare snapped loudly, glaring. "I can tolerate a lot, but that is WAY on the wrong side young man." She warned heatedly. Damon rolled his eyes. "Roll your eyes at me again, see what happens." She went on.

"Yes, mother." He sighed.

Klare too sighed. "Now, you know I won't object to smoking or sexual activity. I was the same at your age. But I need to be sure that-" Damon cut her off.

"Yes we were safe, no I did not force her, yes there was some alcohol involved, no I do not know if I'll be seeing her again, and yes I was a perfect gentleman." he listed his answers for what questions he'd predicted he'd be getting. Klare stared at her son for a moment before releasing another sigh.

"As good as anything else I suppose." She decided, slumping slightly. She opened the fridge and pulled out some fruit. The only things she could really do in the kitchen without poisoning someone was to make coffee, smoothies, and grilled cheese. That last one she's still working on.

Klare was basically an older, female, and (with as much love and respect Damon could muster) thicker version of her son. Her hair and eyes were the same as Damon's and Jenny's, and her face was pretty much identical to Damon's. Some people thought it was scary how much they looked alike.

"Back onto the topic of Genevieve…" Klare started, cutting up some of the fruit for the blender.

"You didn't answer my question." Damon reminded her, munching on his hashbrown. He'd have made for Klare as well, but then he'd have to make for Genevieve as well. But Klare's on a smoothie diet anyway, so the point is redundant. "I'll rephrase it then; is she really that upset that you spent the night worrying about me instead of _worrying _about her?" He asked.

"She's upset because you were making me worry," Klare answered, putting the chopped up fruit in the blender before working on the next piece.

"Or maybe she's put off by the fact that one individual in this house has a dick between his legs." Damon shot back.

"I know she can be a bit extreme in the feminist department, but-"

"Feminist? Try feminazi, Mother." Damon growled. "I saw it in her eyes when I first met her. She was _not _happy to see you had a son. And when I got home today, I could _smell _the judgment coming from her when she realized I had a fling." He shook his head. "She wouldn't do that if it was Jenny at my age. She'd be proud of the budding young woman she's becoming." He snarled, glaring at his food. "She's a textbook Misandrist, and I can't believe you of all people don't see it."

"Did you not think that maybe that's because you're wrong?" Klare suggested, quickly blitzing the blender.

"Or…" Damon trailed off as he shook his head. He hated loud sounds. "Maybe I'm right and you don't see it. Maybe, by some miracle, you actually don't know better for once?" He returned with his own suggestion.

"Look, we can sit here and argue about it all we want, but that's not going to get anything done." Klare sighed as she poured her smoothie into a glass. "You and Genevieve will have an opportunity to sort things out-" She stopped when her son snorted. She gave him a light glare. "-when she takes you to school today." She finished her sentence, sipping her smoothie.

"You can't be fuckin' serious." Damon let out with wide eyes.

"I can be fuckin' serious, and I am." Klare walked over to the kitchen door. "Finish your breakfast and finish getting ready. She's leaving in 20 min." She told him. Damon slumped into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"_A shitty end to a great night." _He groaned to himself.

* * *

With his backpack over shoulder, and his sister skipping at his side, Damon approached the car on the pavement, just outside of the townhouse he lived in with his mother and sister. He could see Genevieve leaning against it. An Audi A3, blue, perfect for a lawyer, in his opinion. Jenny, completely naive to the animosity between the teen and the woman, skipped over to the car. As Genevieve unlocked the car, he waited for Jenny to hop in before he spoke.

"Heard you were pussy-blocked last night." He commented slyly, making the woman turn and face him with a glare. "Sorry. I mean, it's completely my fault, right? God forbid a woman actually worries about her son instead of eating her girlfriend out, am I right?" He said snidely, passing by her.

"That's your own mother you're talking about, young man." She warned him.

"Yeah, which only makes the thought of you shlumping her even more nauseating." He shot back, smirking as she clenched her fist.

"If you were my son, I'd-"

"But I'm not your son." Damon cut her off. "And I want you to stop acting like I am." He spat, shoving past her. He slipped into the back seat of her car, next to Jenny, lay her head on his lap. He hadn't seen Genevieve's eyes soften slightly as he allowed a small smile on his lips. With a sigh, Genevieve popped into the driver's seat and ignited the car. She didn't say anything as Damon popped his earphones into his ears.

* * *

After dropping Jenny off at her school, Genevieve headed on towards Damon's school. The trip was spent in silence, courtesy of Damon's earphones. She could minorly hear some of the music coming from them, but it didn't bother her. She had her own music on the radio. As she stopped in the parking way of his school, she sighed.

"Damon." She said as he took his earphones out. She tried not to scowl when he rolled his eyes.

"What?" He asked, grabbing his bag and undoing his seat belt.

"You don't like me." She said. It was a statement, not a question.

"The feeling's mutual, I think." He snarked back. Genevieve sighed again, calming herself.

"You don't have to like me Damon, but you do have to respect me." She said sternly, looking at him through the rearview mirror. "I love Klare, Damon. I want her to be happy." She said softly.

"And I want you out of my home, but life doesn't always work out the way we want it to, does it?" The teen shot back, opening the door.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" Genevieve asked, throwing her head back in exasperation.

"I'm not stubborn, I'm right." Damon shot back as he closed the door. She sighed and rolled down her window, facing the boy. "From day one, you've been overbearing, bossy, and obnoxious. I'm not the problem. _You are_."

"I've only ever acted unpleasantly when you act out. Weed in the house, getting into fights? And now sex!" Genevive shot back. "What's poor Jenny going to think if she's that side of you?" She demanded.

"Notice how I've made effort to ensure she doesn't." Damon pointed out in response. "And by the way, Mum doesn't do anything about all that, because she was the same when she was my age. She trusts me enough to learn from my own mistakes." He started walking away, leaving the lawyer to her thoughts.

* * *

**Aaaaand, cut! **

**You all thought this was going to be the sequel? Didn't you? I know you did! No, this a prequel. Life is Strange Games already show what happened to Chloe before the first game, how she met Rachel, how things were for her when she was younger, etc. I thought it would be cool to do the same with Damon. **

**So, here he is, 16 years old. **

**This story will show his relationship with his future stepmother improving, how he met his sensei and a number of other things. I thought it would be interesting to write.**

**I'm sure you'll notice a few similarities to the actual Before the Storm game, but rest assured, this is not going to be a carbon copy. I plan on having several things go differently.**

**I hope you enjoy the fic!**

**Also, I'm sure you've all noticed how I've been slacking in writing lately. Well, it's mainly because A) work has been getting a little hectic lately, and I'm usually rather tired, so I don't write that much, and B) I've started my own book! An actual novel, not a fanfic or a short story. I'm not holding my breath on having my first ever original work published into a bestseller, but I do want to make a career out of writing, and that's the first step. Well, after five years or so of fanfiction writing. :P**

**C'ya!**


	2. Chapter 2

_**TRIGGER WARNING! SELF HARM IN THIS CHAPTER!**_

* * *

"_Dammit." _Damon thought to himself with a scowl. He was on the roof of the building, smoking some of the weed that he'd taken from the wannabe rapist the previous night. Sadly, it wasn't any good. He wanted to get high, but the only thing that stuff did was make him sleepy. And he only had ten minutes before break ended and his classes continued. _"Cheapskate." _With a sigh, he tossed the joint into a bin.

He let out another deep sigh as he leaned back. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to relax. He knew he probably shouldn't, but he was tired, and he had ten minutes to just lie around. He doubted he'd fall asleep so quickly.

How wrong he was...

* * *

_~~Dream Start~~_

_He opened his eyes, finding himself sitting in the front seat of a car. It took a moment, but he realized it was a car he'd been in many times before. He wore a plain white shirt with a solid black wolf's head, a pair of black jeans, an old wristwatch, and a pair of black converse with white soles. The car was driving on a highway in Oregon that he recognized. Also, the passenger seat was on the right. A US car…_

_Looking over at the driver's seat, his heart dropped when he saw who was driving it._

_William Price._

_At least, it looked like him. It practically was, but his face was dulled, blank. Basically, it wasn't there. Everything he knew of that man was gone with his face. He was a blank slate driving a car._

"Everything's different, but nothing has changed. Walking these streets, I still feel strange..." _Damon found himself singing along with the music. _"If you wanna see the things that I see, come on and take a little walk with me…"_ He sang softly with a small smile. He'd always loved that song._

_A caw caught his attention. On the hood of the car, there stood a raven. Even as the car drove along, the bird just stood there, unphased by the speed at which the car was driving. It looked the teen in the eyes for but a moment before it flew off. A bright light erupted on the side of the vehicle, blinding him._

_~~Dream End~~_

* * *

Damon shot up with a gasp, his hand on his head, panting as he heard the bell ringing. He looked around him, seeing he was still on the roof of his school. As the bell stopped ringing he let out a loud groan and fell back, staring at the cloudy sky. He was really down. A shitty start to the day with Genevieve, a highly unnerving dream, and now he has to deal with a judgemental nun trying to teach him Religious Studies.

He let out a sigh.

"Bad dream, Mr Azrail?" An all too familiar voice piped up. Damon sat up and had to stop himself from scowling. Reverend Michael, the Catholic School equivalent of the headmaster. He looked quite good for a man in his 50s, but his grey pornstache, perpetual scowl, and bald head, one didn't automatically feel comfortable around him. His priest's suit did not improve matters.

"Forgive me Reverend, I hadn't intended to sleep until break ended." Damon said simply. He didn't want to go through the trouble of arguing with this man. He was so incredibly stubborn and caught in his ways that he'd suspend someone for wearing the wrong socks. Religious bigots were the worst in Damon's opinion, second only to rapists.

"That would be all fine and well, if you had slept through only break." Reverend Michael said, a calm glare in his eyes. Damon was surprised. He'd slept that long? It didn't feel like it. "Break ended 45 minutes ago. You missed half of your Religious Studies period." He informed. Damon could swear he saw an evil glint in the man's eyes. "Have you anything to say?" The man asked, barely suppressing a smirk.

"Uh, I slept through half of my Religious Studies period?" Damon tried. The Reverend narrowed his eyes at the boy. "You're the one who's told me on multiple occasions 'Repent and thou shalt be saved' you know." The teen pointed out, making the Reverend's glare return.

"Tomorrow morning, I expect you and your mother in my office." The Reverend said simply. "Ignoring the word of God is one thing, but mocking it is another." He almost growled. "Now get to your class." Damon rolled his eyes as he watched the elder man walk off.

"If only you knew the mocking I did behind your back." he mumbled, grabbing his bag. He headed off towards his next class. What remained of it anyway.

* * *

Again, it seemed like karma insisted on screwing him over. As soon as he entered his half finished class, he was treated to a lecture from Sister Wendy, who insisted on pausing her class and going on and on about how he was the most sinful individual she'd ever met. Really, his only issues were his attitude, work ethic, and atheism, as far as the school was concerned, so failed to see how he was the most sinful guy in the school.

She tried to make herself look like she was the good guy by saying she didn't want to see his soul eternally damned and that he was destroying his whole future and all that bullshit, but really she was just a bigoted, self-righteous hag who thought her way of life was the right way, and anybody who disagreed was evil and sinful. The same could be said of just about anybody who taught at the school.

As soon as the class ended, Damon had made his decision. It was a stupid, reckless, and even somewhat dangerous decision, but desperate times call for desperate measures. His mother didn't want to listen when he said he wanted to leave the school, the Reverend didn't listen when he said he didn't belong there, and all of his peers were such Ameri-phobes that he couldn't walk through the halls without someone making a joke about him shooting someone or getting fat. It didn't help that he was older than his peers, due to his education started at the age of 6 to 7 in America, instead of 5 to 6 in London. It would have been a year later for him given his birthday was in September. This made him two years older than his classmates. Nobody listened to his thoughts or feelings.

Time to _make _them listen.

He'd snuck away to the infirmary and gotten his hands on some rubbing alcohol. Then he made his way to the cafeteria and grabbed some matches, which they used to ignite the gas stoves. Finally, he went to the library and grabbed a few bibles, enough to make a small stack. Then, in the main hall, he made a few calculations with trigonometry to ascertain the exact ranged of each fire sprinkler. With the information, he was able to mark a spot where water wouldn't touch, even if all the sprinklers went off. At least, not immediately.

Chuckling evilly, he placed the stack of bibles on the spot that he'd marked an X on with a permanent marker. He poured the entire bottle of rubbing alcohol on the stack, a manic grin on his face. When all the liquid was out, he tossed the bottle aside and pulled out the match box. If he'd timed this correctly, the Reverend would be leaving his office in the next two minutes or so for his cup of afternoon tea. Grinning madly, Damon took out a match from the box and ignited it.

"Let there be light, motherfucker!" Damon howled, laughing loudly as he dropped the match on the stack. The books, which had been soaked in rubbing alcohol, ignited in a burst of blue and orange flames, making Damon step back quickly. Immediately, he grabbed his bag and made for the exit, laughing like a maniac the whole time. "Ooh, this is not going to end well." He said to himself. Despite that, he couldn't help smiling widely.

Within the next few seconds, he heard the fire alarm go off, and the sprinklers following. With the way he placed the books, it would take a while for them to go out, unless someone put them out themselves. However, they'd probably be too occupied with getting everybody out in time, so he doubted that would happen immediately.

* * *

The euphoria of his arsony died down a little quicker than he would have liked. It was a highly impulsive decision, and whilst he didn't entirely regret it, he was dreading the consequences. Unlike most teens his age, Damon was able to see that his actions had consequences. Most of the time he was either willing to deal with them, or was able to avoid them. Or at least mitigate them to a minimal. This time around, he wasn't so collected. He'd acted brashly, and would no doubt be punished, either by repeating the year, or being expelled from the school.

And whilst he hates the infernal Catholic school, he did know the value of quality education.

For now though, he didn't want to think about that. Instead, he just strolled about the area. He'd head home after a few hours. He had his train pass; he could get just about anywhere in the city easily enough. It would take a bit of walking, but not much. First thing he did after leaving the school was grab a coffee from a nearby cafe. He needed a pick-me-up.

After getting his coffee, he strolled about the city, keeping to areas he knew. Three years in the City of London, and he still didn't know it half as well as he did his old town, Arcadia Bay. Eventually, he found himself in a park, void of any people, thank goodness. He could use his usual outlet to get his mind off of what would most likely happen in the next few hours. Sipping his coffee, he sighed as he put his cup down on the ground. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a small hunting knife that he'd gotten his hands on some time prior. It was his grandfather's. He'd stolen it from his grandad's cupboard around six months before. He doubted he'd noticed it was gone; it was hidden under a lot of clutter.

Pulling his sleeve up, he took a deep breath as he slowly slid the sharp edge over his forearm. He let out a grunt as he felt his flesh splitting slightly before he made another, identical cut right next to it. _"I needed this…" _He thought to himself as let out a slight hum before making a third cut. Cutting himself hurt, sure, but there was also an uncanny feeling of… pleasure, that came after it. He knew that cutting triggered a release of endorphins that dulled pain. They were meant to help the body deal with physical stresses and pains, but it also worked on relieving emotional pain and stress. It was why he found cutting to be so addictive. Who wouldn't want to have all their pain swept away?

"_Two more…" _He told himself. That was his ritual. Five cuts, no more no less. He never went beyond five in one 'session,' as he called it. He'd cut almost everyday for the past few months. His biceps were starting to look like a cross-hatching drawing. He was sure that some of the cuts he'd made were going to scar. Nothing he could do about that. With another sigh, he made to start his fourth cut, but something stopped him. Some kind of projectile had soared through the air, and knocked the knife right out of his hand. "Gah!" He hissed in pain as the knife fell to the ground. He looked up and saw the culprit who'd thrown the stone.

It was a woman, significantly older than he was. In her 40s or maybe 50s, he guessed. She was in really good shape, wearing a tracksuit that showed off her strong build. Her long black hair was greying quite a bit, tied into a ponytail, and there were a few wrinkles visible on her face, but it was clear to him that woman was in very good shape, and probably stronger than he was, in spite of her age. By her facial structure, he could easily tell that she was Asian. She was also tossing a rock up and down in her hand.

"Nice aim." Damon spat sarcastically, flipping her the bird before standing up and picking up his knife.

"You're not going to solve anything by cutting yourself Young man." The woman spoke. By her accent, it was clear that, like him, she grew up in the States. A mid-Atlantic accent, if he wasn't mistaken.

"How about I worry about my problems and you worry about yours, ok?" He shot back, leaning down to grab his bag. "Fuck!" he cursed as the woman threw a stone, knocking his knife from his hand again. "Would you stop that?" He snapped as she approached and picked the knife up. He tried to snatch it from her grip, but she expertly sidestepped his attempt. Growling in frustration he got a little more violent in trying to take the knife back, but she easily dodged or blocked him, and in a split second he found himself on the ground, the air knocked out of him. She'd knocked him back with an elbow to his gut.

"Try again when you're a little more focussed." The woman smirked down at him, twirling the dagger expertly. Clearly, she had some skills.

"Give me the knife back, bitch." He spat at her, standing up.

"You want it back, come visit me here." She said, pocketing the knife and pulling out a business card. She held it out for him, and he rudey swiped it from her hand. "Maybe your knife won't be the only thing you'll get back if you come by." She said cryptically, walking off. Damon glared at the card.

"Natasha Kim's Mixed Martial Arts Dojo…" He read out loud. _"So that's it." _He rolled his eyes. She was a martial artist. No wonder she had him on the ground so fast.

Now he had to go. He didn't want to lose his grandad's knife. He intended to give it back once he was either caught cutting, or grew out of it.

This is just what he needed. Another old lady who thought she knew what was right for him.

* * *

**Mum: Damon, answer your fucking phone  
Mum: This isn't funny. You crossed a line.  
Mum: You could be arrested, do you realise this?  
Mum: Damon  
Mum: Pick up the phone!  
Mum: DAMON!**

Damon rolled his eyes as he saw his mother's texts. She'd called him about seventeen times in the past hour, and each time he left the device to ring. He actually put it on silent because of how annoying the constant ringing was. Eventually, she started texting, though that proved to be just as fruitless. He had no intention of talking to anyone for the foreseeable future. He wasn't running away, but he wasn't going to just go back and bend over backwards for everyone. Not his mother, not his teachers, and most certainly not Genevieve.

Suddenly, the sound of a siren resounded behind him as he walked along the pavement. He turned to face the incoming police vehicle. He'd heard sirens before, of course, crime was prominent in London, though it had gone down in recent years. What he wasn't expecting was for the vehicle to stop at the pavement right by him. As the siren stopped, the policeman stepped out. Damon sighed as he recognised the man.

"Constable Parker…" He greeted the man dryly. Constable Parker was a tall-ish African-English man with a small afro, and a bit of a mustache. He was in his late 20s, wearing a classic policeman uniform, looking at Damon with tired disappointment.

"Damon, I'm going to have to ask you to come with me." He said simply. He'd arrested the boy once or twice before.

"Oh boy, a trip to the nick then?" Damon asked drolly, handing his bag over to the officer of the law.

"No, and be thankful for that." Parker said warningly. "Miss Olsen was able to pull some strings and have you not be put in the cells for the night." He held out his hands. With a roll of his eyes, Damon handed over the possessions in his pockets: his phone, key chain, wallet, and lighter. Parker gave a suspicious look at the last one. "Whether or not charges are to be pressed is yet to be seen." He noted, opening the back door of the car. "You will be confined to your house though." He added.

"No cuffs?" Damon snarked.

"We both know resisting arrest is not your style." Parker deadpanned.

"Yesterday, one would have said the same thing about arson." Damon returned, hopping into the car.

"Fair enough." Parker shook his head, closing the door. "I still don't find it necessary though." He added before the door closed completely. Damon sighed. He wasn't all that surprised that the day turned out like this, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant. He'd hoped he'd have more time away from his mother and Genevieve before he went home.

* * *

"Blah-blah-blah-blah cannot believe this, blah-blah-blah-blah raised you better, blah-blah-blah-blah any idea what you've done, yada-yada." Damon tuned out the lecture his mother was giving him as he sat on the couch, Klare pacing in front of him, going on and on about how wrong what he did was, how he should know better, how he could be going to prison, and so on.

"_Someone kill me…" _Damon grumbled in his mind as his mother went on.

"Damon!" The enraged woman snapped. "Are you even listening to me?" She demanded.

"I'm trying to, but you keep repeating the same basic principle over and over." The teen deadpanned. "What I did was wrong, I shouldn't have done it, there will be consequences, etc, etc, etc." He listed, making his mother massage her temples.

"This is a very serious situation here Damon, and I do not have the time or the constitution currently to deal with your attitude." She spoke calmly and seriously. "You could very well be charged with arson, and spend jail time." She emphasised the last two words. "So I'm going to give you one shot to tell me why you would do something so monumentally stupid." She decided. Damon stared at her for a silent moment before sighing.

"I tried to tell you that I wanted to leave that school. I tried speaking to the councillor, to the sisters, to the fucking _Reverend, _but nobody listened when I said that that school was not right for me. I needed to be somewhere else." He started.

"Maybe you're sixteen and don't know what you need." Klare shot.

"Maybe I'm the first sixteen year old that you've ever raised, and you don't know what I need either." Damon shot back, making his mother's jaw drop in outrage. "I don't give a rat's ass how much more experienced in the world you are Mum, your 'experience' in this world isn't going to help with my problems!" He hissed. "I didn't know how to get it through your skull that I'M RIGHT, and that school is not good for me. You've called me stubborn any number of times, and you've even admitted that I get it from you, but you don't see when you're being stubborn!"

"I am your mother Damon!" Klare snapped in anger. "That school was the only decent place I could get you into with our funds. If there was a better place to send you, I would have done so already." She growled, crossing her arms. "And I've yet to hear a good reason as to why you tried to set your school on fire." She reminded him.

"Nobody listened to me when I said that place wasn't good, so I decided to _make _them listen." Damon said simply.

"By getting yourself expelled? Because I can bet you anything that that's what's going to happen when you and I speak to the Reverend tomorrow!" Klare stressed.

"Send me to a public school then!"

"Damon, you have a photographic memory, an IQ where you'd have to _lose_ 50 points to be classified as 'smart,' and a shit ton of potential to do _whatever _you set your mind to." Klare listed. "I'll be damned if I send my son to a public high school, where he's just a number to them." He said firmly.

"I'm just another sinner to the school I go to now." Damon shot back.

"Well whose fault is that?" Klare demanded. "Flaunting your atheism at anyone who'd listen, blatantly disrespecting the Reverend and the sisters, smoking on campus, illicit sexual activities with a sister's niece-"

"In my defence, she came onto me." Damon interjected. "And it's not like I bonked her on the school grounds, we were making out in a classroom. And that's ALL we did! We never even saw each other again!" He defended himself.

"That's besides the point." Klare returned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You've gone out of your way to antagonise the people in that school." She looked him in the eyes.

"Well maybe if I was treated a little better, I'd be a little nicer." The teen huffed.

"Thus far, I've yet to hear a reason as to why you nearly burnt your school down." Klare brought the conversation back to their initial topic. "Other than a glorified temper tantrum." She added.

"That about sums it up." Damon decided to just surrender. "Shitty school, bitchy lawyer in my home trying to tell me what to do, and a lack of any real friends to fall back on, I decided to act out to let everybody know how pissed I am with the world." He slumped into the couch.

"Damon, I thought we were passed you agreeing with me just to make me stop talking." Klare sighed in exasperation. "It's horrifically disrespectful."

"Well, ever since we moved to London and Genevieve came into the picture, you've not looked like a very respectable figure." Damon said quietly, shocking his mother. Without another word, he stood up and skulked off to his room.

"Are you still cooking tonight, or are you going to sulk in your room for the rest of the day?" Klare asked, not looking at him.

"I'll cook." Damon responded, entering his room. It was still rather early for supper, so he opted to do it later.

* * *

_~~Dream Start~~_

_He found himself in the car again. It was the exact same make and model as last time, but the driver and passenger seats had switched places. He was now on a highway that he had only seen once before. It was the road one takes between London and Wales. Country music was playing on the radio, filling the teen with nostalgia. Sitting in the driver's seat, driving on a UK road, in a UK car, as she'd been doing so all her life, was Chloe Price. She wore the same clothes she wore to her father's funeral last time Damon saw her, but she looked a little older. Her hair was shorter, and her face had matured a little. Hanging from the rearview mirror, there was a Polaroid photograph of William._

"I just came to tell you that I miss you my old friend…"_ She sang along with the music, her voice a little deeper and huskier since they'd last spoken_. "Burnin' the midnight oil again." _She went on._

"_William loved that song…" Damon whispered._

"_Yeah." Chloe agreed, smiling in amusement. "If Mom were here, she'd say-"_

"_Turn that shit off." Damon and Chloe said together, mimicking Joyce's Southern drawl, sharing a chuckle. Damon's happiness at the sweet moment left as quickly as it came, and tears started to fall from his eye._

"_Dude, why're you crying?" Chloe asked, sparing the boy a glance. Reality seemed to glitch around him for a moment. The photograph turned to one of Genevieve for a split second, and the car seemed to look more like a Audi A3 for a moment there. Chloe's clothing seemed to switch between her funeral clothes, and a Catholic school uniform. Also, when reality glitched back, there was a raven perched on the car's bonnet._

"_Because this isn't real…" Damon whispered. "None of this is real…" he sighed in depression, looking out the window._

"_Ain't it?" Chloe asked with a raised eyebrow. Damon let out a mirthless chuckle, shaking his head. Suddenly, his arm felt warm and wet. Looking at his forearm, he saw blood seeping out of the cuts he'd inflicted earlier that day, showing no signs of stopping. "Damn, looks like you picked a fight with the wrong guy." Chloe quipped._

"_Yeah, myself…" Damon said drolly, sighing._

"_Hard to believe the Shrink's son is a cutter. That's irony for ya." Chloe chuckled._

"_She's a psychologist, not a shrink." Damon rolled his eyes._

"_Eh, potato, potahto." Chloe shrugged. As she drove, they passed by a figure on the side of the road. It looked familiar to Damon for a moment. "You know, you're not gonna get anywhere in life if you keep letting yourself spiral downwards like this." She warned him._

"_I don't need this from you of all people Chloe." Damon sighed. "If I know you, you're probably not in much better condition that I am." He pointed out._

"_Technically, that is true, considering I'm just a figment of your imagination." Chloe said with a cheeky grin. "And since I'm a figment of your imagination, that means you're really telling yourself you need help." She added._

"_Sure, whatever." Damon rolled his eyes._

"_Maybe all you need is a friend." Chloe suggested. Reality flickered again. In Chloe's place, for a split second, appeared the Asian woman that had stolen his knife. _

"_The friend I need is on the other side of the planet, and clearly not interested in talking." Damon rolled his eyes._

"_Maybe not a friend then, but something else?" Chloe suggested as the car started to slow down. She came to a full stop, and just outside of Damon's window, a figure approached. It was the Asian woman. Her eyes narrowed at him as it started to rain outside of the car. But something was different about the rain. "Who knows? Maybe the answers to all your problems are in the last place you'd expect to find them." Chloe suggested as the rain got heavier._

_That's when Damon saw it._

_The rain soaking the woman was not your typical rain. It was dark, thick, and red. Blood. The car seemed unaffected, but with each passing second, the woman was becoming more and more bloodsoaked. She held up a camera, and old polaroid that Damon hadn't seen since he was last in Arcadia Bay, and snapped a photo of him. _

_The light was blinding._

_~~Dream End~~_

* * *

Damon shot out of sleep with a gasp, sitting up in his bed, the duvet falling off the bed. Clearly, he'd be tossing about a lot in his sleep. He calmed after a moment and looked at his alarm clock. 4am. He let out a groan and fell into his pillow, not bothering to pick up his duvet. He let out a deep sigh as he sank into his mattress.

"Well, I'm not sleeping anymore tonight." He deadpanned to himself.

* * *

**OK, I know it's been a while people. Real life is getting a bit hectic right now. The shop I worked in closed down, I started a night class, and my job hunt is just as fruitless this time around as the last time. Not to mention, I'm kinda nervous about leaving the house with Coronavirus floating about. It's getting more and more prominent here in ACT. **

**And no, the later than expected update has NOTHING to do with me getting writer's block, getting into more trouble than I'd like to admit, playing Mass Effect for the first time ever, and watching Firefly and House MD. No, not at all.**

**Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy the new chapter. I'll try to update a little more often, but with all the shit going on, I'm finding it a little difficult to find the motivation or ideas to write anything, so… fingers crossed!**


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